The Last Act and Curtain Close
by Jag-Fel
Summary: Set during the Act V Siege of Harrogath, a wayward Druid inspires heroes and townsfolk alike to resist and overcome the overwhelming odds forced upon them by Baal the Lord of Destruction and his minions. Each chapter will cover an Act V quest.
1. Prelude

Diablo 2: The Last Act and Curtain Close  


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_Set during the Act V Siege of Harrogath, a wayward Druid inspires heroes and townsfolk alike to resist and overcome the overwhelming odds forced upon them by Baal the Lord of Destruction and his minions. It is a tale of raw warrior courage, untamed passions, and unpredictable alliances... _

_Allow me to welcome you to the Prelude to The Last Act and Curtain Close, an unintentional epic from Diablo 2: Lord of Destruction. _

_Disclaimer: The name Aldur is borrowed, obviously, from the same-named set of armor from LoD. But he, unlike the other set names, has no history, no identity explaining who he is or why he has a set named after him. Here's a look at that. Diablo 2 nor Lord of Destruction are not mine, nor are any recognizable names or entities. Only the story itself is mine, and I'm making no money from it. Again, just a hobby._

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Night always brought an uneasily solace. 

The fierce siege engines and mobs of Baal's terrible minions seemed to cease but briefly, giving the people of Harrogath the feeling of sitting in a trench while waiting for the enemy to overtake them at any moment. Warrior and adventurer alike, whether local or foreigner, usually spent a great deal of their evening sharpening weapons, preparing incantations, or praying to whichever deity held command over their fate or destiny.

The town itself was rugged, little more than a barbarian village built within fortified walls and battlements, the only true protection between the townspeople and the demons of Hell outside their gates. The few local men who had survived the drawn-out onslaught had been debrief by Qual-Khek earlier in the eve; they now slept the night away with what remained of their families, dreading the day to come as always.

Odd as it seemed, the entire town had a calm kind of resignation to their fates. They neither dreaded death nor were prepared for it to come easy. It seemed the Barbarian way to acknowledge that fate would come for you when it did, and the only thing a man could do was stand his ground until that time.

Not all of the denizens of Harrogath were the children of Bul-Kathos, the barbarian peoples of Mount Arreat. Among them were warrior women, the Amazons with their bows and spears, and stealthy assassins in their dark garb with razor-sharp hand-blades.

Also present were the dealers of the dead, Necromancers, studying tomes to reinforce their knowledge of controlling the dead, Paladins of Zakarum sending their prayers to the High Heavens, and yet a sorceress or two still remained, though their casualty rate had been highest.

But, like the black sheep of the herd, one single Druid had claimed a simple, spartan tent near the great metal gate to the city. His brethren had not yet arrived. He knew not why. Dressed in leather trousers of an oiled auburn, but stained in both blood and other filth, and a snug-fitting off-white tunic that was belted at his waist, the Druid kept court with a single midnight raven and a great grizzly he had affectionately named Maeniel.

It was late of hour, and the beasts with which he kept company similarly knew that the morrow would bring with it challenges unlike any they could have prepared for. At Túr Dúlra he had spent his childhood and much of his younger adult years studying, learning to hone his abilities and strengthen his ties with the natural environment around him. Aldur, he was called among his people, had shown much promise with the charming of and friendship among the beasts of Sanctuary, but little promise with assuming their forms, and only the most slight command over the elements.

Had it not been for his command over the summoning of companions, Aldur would have likely been banished, for the Druids of Scosglen prepared for what they called the 'Uileloscadh Mór,' the very battle that had come to Harrogath. It had been with a heavy heart that Aldur had left revered Glór-an-Fháidha so many years ago, the magnificent oak that was the foundation of the Druids' way of life, to forge his own destiny or fall beneath fate's harsh embrace,

The grizzly rumbled, a booming sound that carried over the harsh mountain winds. Aldur glanced at his beast-friend and ruffled the fur on the bear's head. It's large eyes closed and lips curled in approximation of a smile. An uneasy silence had settled over the town; lo, Aldur could not even hear the drunken merriment coming from the nearby tavern.

"To sleep then," he whispered, unfastening the leather braid that held his gingered hair back. Aldur laid himself aside Maeniel, covering himself in a leather and fur mantle. The temperate weather of the mountains demanded constant vigilance to keep oneself warm – but Aldur found that keep a traveling companion that was a mighty bear... well, that also helped keep a man warm at night.

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Thank you for reading, please review! Chapter I will be released and uploaded within the week. 


	2. Of Shenk and the Siege

Diablo 2: The Last Act and Curtain Close

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_Allow me to welcome you to Chapter I: Of Shenk and the Siege, of The Last Act and Curtain Close, an unintentional epic from Diablo 2: Lord of Destruction. _

_Disclaimer: The name Aldur is borrowed, obviously, from the same-named set of armor from LoD. But he, unlike the other set names, has no history, no identity explaining who he is or why he has a set named after him. Here's a look at that. Diablo 2 nor Lord of Destruction are not mine, nor are any recognizable names or entities. Only the story itself is mine, and I'm making no money from it. Again, just a hobby._

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Chapter I: Of Shenk and the Siege

To his credit, Aldur rose early enough. The years had been harsh to the Druid's body, but he'd nothing if not benefited from it. He was tall and muscular, though more lean than the Barbarians of these highlands, but equally hardy and possessing a stamina that would make many a Northman envious. He rose from the tent at first light, bathed in an uneasy crimson from the fires; he was a product of having spent his last years among the Northern clans on the steppes, and busied himself with preparing for the day's tribulations.

After dressing in a simple woolen tunic, bleached to an ashen hue, Aldur adorned himself in a simple hauberk of chainmail. The ringlets were hardy but aged, showing off much of their wear and coloration. Over the armor he wore a studded leather cuirass and a mantle of wolf hide.

The area surrounding the one main gate in Harrogath was a bustle of activity. Qual-Khek was busy briefing his burly army of young Barbarian men, while the more diversified mercenary army prepared itself however each soldier would. Aldur spotted several classes of warriors in the mix, some he was more familiar with than others. One, a tall Necromancer he knew only as Stavos, had a haunted expression and countenance. The man, lean and lanky as he was, wore a heavy suit of leather and plate armor. To his own credit and that of his peers, he was the first man behind Qual-Khek's men at the gate.

After Stavos was a pair of Sorceresses whose names Aldur had no recollection of, though he assumed that was due to his innate mistrust of any user of the traditional magics rather than the natural arts. Then came a small cadre of heavily armored knights. The Paladins of Zakarum had a modest representation at Mount Arreat, though their warriors were well equipped and had no shortage of courage. Elsewhere in the assemblage were the Bartuc Assassins, women all but deadly as anything, and another handful of warrior women, the Amazons from the South Seas.

"A gold piece for your thoughts, Brother Druid," a deep, rumbling voice offered. Aldur turned his shoulder only slightly to the speaker, acknowledging the stout Barbarian with a nod.

"Branvar," Aldur replied evenly, dipping his chin in a light bow. "The red sun rises; it will be a hard day. Many will not return to see the gates of mighty Harrogath again."

The Barbarian called Branvar nodded. He, like others of his kind, was dressed in a leather kilt and carried a great axe. He was lightly armored, preferring to trust his own hide rather than the plates or mails of armor. Unlike the others, though, he was wizened by age and hardened by his experience. When Aldur had left Túr Dúlra and spent some months sojourning the steppe-trails in the mountain ranges surrounding Mount Arreat, Branvar's tribe had been the one who took him in.

Aldur and Branvar, who considered one another as close to brothers as men could without sharing a common ancestry, often shared company while venturing outside Harrogath's walls. True, others came and left on occasion, but the two always watched each other's backs.

There then rose a clamor throughout the assembled ranks of mercenaries and adventurers, starting near the gate and sweeping through the formation. Baal's minions were mounting an attack and everyone was eager to meet them. Aldur looked to Branvar briefly, who matched his glance. They shared a nod, before facing forward where the gate had just been heaved open.

The first warriors surged outward, spilling onto first wave of demons with a ferocious determination. Aldur hefted his shield and war spear, flexing the muscles in his torso in preparation, and suddenly... he was outside beneath the bloody red sun.

All around the ground was spattered with blood and dotted with the bodies of man and woman and demon all, though thankfully more demon than human, Aldur considered. The Harrogath wave had overtaken the first line of Baalian trenches, destroying siege machines and hewing demonic minions where they were found. Aldur paused briefly to pull his spear from the gaping chest of an Enslaved, glancing around for Branvar.

The Barbarian had worked himself into frenzy, his great axe slashing through every foe it found with ease. He was covered in as much blood as the ground he walked upon, though the sweat that poured freely from his skin was slowly purging the vile fluid from his hide. As if his well-muscled arm were a spear, Aldur pointed forward at a gathered cluster of Enslaved. Branvar bellowed, his voice echoing in the chilled air of the steppes, somehow fortifying both men in their errand.

Aldur hefted his spear again, ignoring the blood that covered its thick tip, and brought himself to a run. Beside and just ahead of the Druid, the grizzly charged with a ferocious intensity that scattered demon and beast alike. Aldur threw himself against the shield of one such demon, using his bulk to knock the foe off balance. As the fiend staggered, he sought an opening in its defense. When one such weakness was found, as the thing struggled to retrieve its shield like some damned fool of a child after a toy, Aldur plunged his lance deep into the weak torso.

The blade entered near the kidneys and exited through the abdominals. As Aldur withdrew the spear, the demon flopped about in pain as its life fluid slowly drained from the mortal wound. The battle was far from over though, as Aldur turned only in time to bring his shield up to guard against a blow from a spiked mace that surely would have caved his skull in.

The blow dented the shield, which worried the Druid, but he paid it little mind and was quickly back on the offensive. He replied with a series of three jabs, trying to off-balance his foe in short order. It, like its comrades, had little grasp of combat outside of Maim! Slash! Kill! Destroy! so Aldur overtook the beast easily.

The siege continued for what felt like days. Many lives had been lost, but Harrogath's warriors and adventurers had finally breached the last plateau before the highlands. Atop the escarpment a great beast held court over scores of demons. These he could turn to berserkers or give to frenzy with the snap! of his whip. Shenk the Overseer he was called, commanding his Demonic legions from the Bloody Foothills around Harrogath.

The advance halted briefly at the foot of the plateau, while the Harrogath warriors considered their plan of attack. Branvar sought to strategize to ensure a clean victory, while Aldur glanced at the Necromancer Stavos, who like the Druid, was somewhat withdrawn from the planning group. Stavos finished his dark incantation and rose from a dead Enslaved its very skeleton, compelling the bones to honor his will and wishes.

The two summoners shared knowing look. Aldur nodded. At first a slow pace, Stavos and Aldur advanced on Shenk and his legions, then to a run, the quicker pace bringing them closer to their doom. Aldur's great grizzly leapt ahead, the great beast bellowing its fury and destroying all who fell within its wake. Alongside the bear came Stavos' golem, its clay and stone body flailing about to crush any who neared it.

By now the cadre of warriors who had been plotting their attack had noticed the seemingly mad charge of the Necromancer and Druid. They now joined the attack, inspired by the raw courage exhibited by the other men, even though outsiders and foreigners they may be. A great cry rose from the ranks. The demons themselves seemed to quiver under the call to arms as they fell to spear and spell and sword.

Aldur found himself unusually calm. He had fallen into what the Barbarians called the 'battle calm', where the rage of war ceased and you were overtaken by an eerie tranquility, despite the havoc all around. With confidence he hewed this foe or that; his vision was like that of a dark tunnel, seeing only his destination and what action was needed to get there. No demon could slow the Druid as he jabbed and thrusted his way through the legions surrounding their dark overseer.

"I will end you this day, demon!" Aldur cried as he felled the last fiend before his true foe. Shenk reared his ugly head, commanding more of his legions to answer the Druid's challenge.

Shenk babbled incoherently, his language that of the demons which none save the Necromancer could understand. Stavos, meanwhile, had raised a great host of his own, skeletons and revived beasts all holding the line while Aldur engaged in single combat with the overseer.

"The legs! Go for the legs!" roared across the din of battle.

Aldur nodded in understanding, his braids briefly blocking his view. The Druid's locks of ginger hair were matted to his face and neck, thick with sweat and blood. By now the Harrogath army had arrived at the plateau and were swarming Shenk. The great overseer was distracted by the death throes of his minions, moaning as their lives left the mortal world. Ignoring all other occasion around him, Aldur saw his opening. He lanced the war spear deep into Shenk's leathery thigh, plunging the weapon into the demon. The blow off-balanced the fiend, forcing him to overcompensate to hold his balance.

As the demon fell, Aldur quickly maneuvered out of the way to avoid the beast's thrashing. Now the Harrogath warriors fell on him in fervor, with Qual-Khek's men hacking at the dying beast in their frenzy. Shenk's death throes were truly horrible, his roars and screams a sound that no man would soon forget, but somehow, all were strengthened by the realization that evil _could_ be overcome.

A small smile came to Aldur's lips as he surveyed the foothills, observing the long advance they'd made and seeing the village of Harrogath some distance below them. Yes, surely evil would be overcome. This was just the beginning.

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As promised, here is Chapter 1. This one was a bit tough, though I'm not quite sure why. I had to go and actually run the quest again to get some of the specifics more detailed. Look forward to Chapter II, based on the Rescue on Mount Arreat, in the coming weeks as time permits. Thank you again for reading. 


End file.
